Save Me From The Dark
by Damion Starr
Summary: A casket. He was IN a casket.  Slash: Jensen/Cougar. Written for my prompt table on LJ. Prompt was Trapped/Captured. Rating for language.


Jensen groaned as he oozed back into consciousness, fighting against the overwhelming throb in his head. His breathing seemed much to loud and only added to the migraine threatening to split his skull open. He swallowed and grimaced when he tasted bile, bitter and acidic, in the back of his throat. He groaned softly, just needing to hear something other than his own harsh breaths. It came out guttural and rough, voice clearly unused for a while. He remembered heading back to the rally point, but anything beyond that was grayed out of his memory.

His head rolled weakly to the side as he tried to shake off the haze in his mind, and hot blood rolled down his cheek. He lifted his hand from his side to touch the wound, but his knuckles rapped against wood not far above his body, dragging splinters into his skin. He hissed through his teeth and opened his eyes to check the wound, only to be met with utter darkness. His brow furrowed, sending another spike of pain through his skull, and blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. When the darkness didn't wane even a bit Jensen tilted his chin down against his collarbone and peered down his own body. He couldn't even make out his own shirt. He lifted his hand again, carefully moving it up to his face. He could feel his own breath against his palm, but couldn't see his wiggling fingers.

"What the hell..." He whispered to himself, and began looking around, squinting hard into the dark. He moved his other hand over the hard wood surface he laid on and quickly met with a wooden wall. He followed that up with his fingertips until he found another surface meeting it at a hard angle. As Jensen followed this, he began to make a mental image of his surroundings. A box, maybe 23 inches between the top and bottom, at least wide and long enough to hold Jensen, but just barely as he tapped his stockinged feet against the opposite end.

A casket. He was in a fucking casket.

Jensen's naked, sightless eyes widened in the black and he began gasping without meaning to. A casket. A goddamn homemade casket. He was IN a casket.

"Oh god," Jensen breathed, panic clouding his mind. "Help. Help!" His screams were raspy, and he pounded on the lid of the casket with his fists. "Help! Fucking help me!" The wood suddenly made a sharp sound and dirt sifted down onto his face, tumbling past his lips into his throat. He coughed hard, hands covering his mouth and the sting bringing tears to his eyes. His coughing suddenly came out in a retch, and he tasted more bile in his throat. He forced himself silent, focusing on not throwing up. He gagged once more, shuddered, and fell still. Once the nausea had waned he moved his hands from his mouth, splaying his fingertips against the surface of wood inches from his face. His thumb touched the crack that his pounding had cause, and he felt the grit of tiny pebbles against his skin. He swallowed, hard, against the intensifying panic. Only this thin wood, obviously weak if it couldn't stand up to his fists, stood between him and six feet of dirt.

This goddamn fucking piece of shit casket was the only thing keeping him alive right now, but even it would kill him once the oxygen ran out and he axphyxiated on his own carbon dioxide emissions.

When the tears sprang to his eyes again, and a sob ripped itself out of his chest, he let himself cry.

He awoke an indeterminate amount of time later to find one eye crusted over with blood and unable to open. He tried to touch it in an effort to flake away the dried blood, but the moment his fingertips touched his brow his head spun and vomit surged up. He was unable to stop himself this time and rolled onto his side as far as he could, pressing his forehead against the cool wood of the casket wall. What little he had eaten in the last (day? days? week?) came out in thick ropes, oozing from the corner of his mouth. He remained that way for a while after the nausea passed, the cool surface soothing on his burning skin. He finally rolled away from the puddle he'd made, squeezing as close to the opposite wall as he could. For now the mess was inches from his body, but he knew that eventually he'd end up laying in his own vomit. He bit the inside of his lip, the sharp lick of pain followed by the copper of blood, which was soon swallowed by the taste of stale bile.

He didn't know why he cared if he laid in his own throw up. It's not like anyone was going to find him. There was no possible way the others would be able to find him either before the casket crumbled entirely beneath the weight of the earth, or he suffocated to death on the carbon dioxide he himself was making and filling the small space with. Despair clutched viciously at his heart with claws and he bled hope.

He was going to die here, and the others would never know what happened to him.

Jensen didn't know how much time had passed before he began to get dizzy. He'd been screaming himself hoarse, cursing himself, Clay, his team, whoever'd done this, anyone he could think of; then passed out once the screaming turned into hyperventilating. When he woke up, he'd do it again. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish with all this, especially since he fucking knew that it would accomplish nothing, but he was never one to lay back and accept anything. He'd fight, kicking and screaming, right up to the moment darkness overcame him and he sighed his last breath. He was a Loser, and Losers never go quietly into the dark. They go out with a fucking bang.

"Clay," He whispered, bloodied fingertips tracing unimportant designs on the wood of his grave. "Thank you, Clay. You saved me from that damn place and gave me a purpose. Without you I would've gone insane." They'd never hear these goodbyes, but they were his family, and Jensen just couldn't leave without saying it. "Pooch, you're an awesome husband, a great friend...and you'll be an amazing father. Take care of Jolene. And tell her I'm sorry." He swallowed and licked his dry lips, but there wasn't enough moisture in his own throat make much of a difference. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open. "Aisha, please keep an eye on them. They're not so good at it." The corners of his mouth twitched in something like a smile. "Jenna, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to put you and Beka through all this. Please be happy. I love you both, JJ. I love you so much."

He swallowed again. He had one last goodbye, and it was the hardest, even if the person wasn't there to hear it. "Cougs..." He whispered, and the name hung heavily in his rapidly thinning air. "You're my best friend. You're one of the few people I trust completely. Whenever I was about to fall apart, you were there, holding me together. You've saved me so many times, and..." It was getting hard to breathe, and he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. "I love you, Carlos. I'd give anything to kiss you; to tell you." His head rolled to the side, chin pressed to his shoulder, and he closed his eyes. "I love you, Coug. I'm sorry." He slipped under as his breaths became more uneven and shallow. He distantly heard scratching on the lid of casket and voices shouting, but he couldn't respond. The lid was lifted, flooding the small space with fresh air, but the carbon dioxide had already made it's way into his blood. He was pulled from his own grave by gentle, familiar hands and laid on the ground.

"Jensen! Jensen, open your eyes!"

"Is he breathing?"

"I'm not getting a pulse."

"Move."

There was a dull thud of a fist against the hacker's ribcage, then a heavy weight pumping his chest, fighting to kick his heart into start. A warm mouth, lips dry and shaking, covered his and his lungs were filled with oxygen, but it wasn't enough. The compressions continued, sharp and just a bit frantic.

"Open your eyes, carinó. Please."

Jensen's heart throbbed to life, making him gasp and cough on the sweet air that rushed into his chest. Warm arms slipped under his head and shoulders, lifting him off the ground. He forced his eyes open with what little energy he could muster, and dark shapes floated in his view, edges fuzzy without his glasses.

"Hey kid," A rough hand touched his face, thumb rubbing at a smear of something on his cheek. He recognized Clay's gruff tone. "You with us?" Jensen could only manage a small nod, still staring unfocused at the shapes above him.

"Man, J, you scared the shit out of us," Pooch laughed, voice still sharp from stress.

The arms around Jensen's shoulders tightened and he was pulled closer to something warm and alive. "We thought we'd lost you." Cougar whispered against his cheek, sounding nearly broken. Jensen wanted so badly to hold him back, but he couldn't move.

There was a long moment of silence where Jensen just focused on the sound of his own breathing. He had a feeling that the others were doing the same. Finally Clay cleared his throat, stroking his palm over his hacker's sweaty hair.

"Let's get him out of here."

They moved silently, gathering him up. He fell asleep, safe in their arms, before they could even begin walking away from the grave.

He awoke to the sun dying, visible through a small opening in the curtains and throwing blood-red light across the hotel walls. He didn't want to think about blood right now, so he looked around for his team. Clay was asleep in the armchair in the corner, chin resting on his collar. Aisha was on the floor at his feet, her head laying on the colonel's thigh. Pooch was sprawled on his back on the other bed, sheets still neatly tucked in place. Cougar was in a chair next to Jensen, head resting on his crossed arms on the bed. His hat was on the table across the room, and his black hair stood out starkly against his skin in the sunset.

Jensen curled his fingers experimentally, then gingerly lifted his hand off his bed. His entire arm shook with effort, but refused to stop until his palm was resting on the curve of Cougar's head. He let his whole arm relax, waiting for the ache under his skin to disperse. His thumb moved slowly, stroking back and forth over Cougar's soft hair. Jensen laid back and closed his eyes, his own repetitive motion relaxing him and drawing him back toward slumber. He was just beginning to drift off when warm fingers covered the back of his hand and curled around his palm. When he opened his eyes and looked down at Cougar, the sniper was staring back, a small, sad smile on his lips. Jensen blinked sleepily and smiled back.

Cougar slowly sat up, taking Jensen's hand off the back of his neck and cradling it to his chest. When Cougar ducked his head and kissed the hacker's knuckles, Jensen felt his face warm. His smile widened a bit, turning shy. Cougar's smile changed as well, sadness retreating, and he pressed his cheek against the back of Jensen's hand. The blonde closed his fingers around Cougar's palm and squeezed gently, eyes fluttering as fatigue settled in again.

Cougar hunched over him, standing up from his chair, and braced himself with a hand beside Jensen's shoulder. Still holding the younger man's hand, Cougar bent down and laid a soft kiss on his lips. Jensen returned the kiss as best he could, wishing he had more energy. But when Cougar drew back and smiled down at him, tender and fond, Jensen knew he'd gotten his point across. He smiled back as he closed his eyes, and as he fell asleep he still felt his hand in Cougar's.


End file.
